A man’s spin on spinning

Does this strike anyone as odd? Because when I mentioned it in the newsroom earlier this week, it caused a few of my co-workers to just about spontaneously combust with both astonishment and admonishment.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said one. “You took a spin class? You know those are for women, right?”

But seriously, I wonder when and why spinning gained this reputation as such a feminine pursuit.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, it’s pretty straightforward: The class takes place in large room filled with stationary bikes. While loud music plays, an instructor takes you on a virtual bike ride, imploring you to speed up and slow down, stand up and sit down and adjust your resistance, usually in the direction of harder.

Biking shorts are not required, though a towel is recommended. I felt as though I’d lost a silo’s worth of fluids.

The first thing you notice about spinning is how uncomfortable the seat is, particularly for us fellas. If you bring a small piece of plywood to place over the seat, I think that might actually help make it softer.

But I assure you the seat was the last thing on my mind when the instructor announced after 30 minutes, “We’re halfway home!”

Halfway?

I felt like we were halfway to Los Angeles.

But that’s a good thing.

Mostly, I spin because it’s a far better workout than I ever could motivate myself to tackle on my own, with nothing fueling me but a 5-year-old iPod mix that still includes several “Jock Jams.”

And it’s worth noting I was one of five males in a class of about 20. The instructor? He was a guy, too.